


A Dangerous Game

by PalavaRakkaus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Anders is a mess, Crying, Emotional Upheaval, Gentle Sex, I have never touched the source material, Listen I don't know how to warn for this but shit goes into an odd direction, M/M, Rough Sex, Smut, caveat lector
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28903062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PalavaRakkaus/pseuds/PalavaRakkaus
Summary: Anders knows how to get Fenris into bed: he just needs to anger the elf enough that he'll want to take his frustration out on Anders. It has been working beautifully, until Fenris decides to give Anders what he deserves, not what Anders thinks he deserves, and that changes everything.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	A Dangerous Game

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I wrote another fic using this same premise, for another fandom. If, by some miracle, you happen to recognise that fic, I would appreciate if you did not bring it up.

It's a game Anders has played many times; it's a game he always wins.

Fenris is predictable. Dangerous, yes, but predictable, and Anders knows exactly what to say, when to interrupt him and when to ignore him as if he isn't there at all to make him boil with rage. A well-timed innocent smile can make Fenris's hands clench into fists and a veiled insult can leave him gritting his teeth, while around them, everyone else thinks it's nothing more but a part of their usual bickering.

Oh yes. Anders knows exactly what he is doing, and where it will lead him. Jab after jab until Fenris is seething, until lyrium flickers blue, just for a heartbeat, and Anders knows he has won. He smirks, wide and annoying, and Fenris's eyes narrow into green slits.

"You will pay," the elf snarls, voice so quiet the others, walking a little ahead of them down the narrow alley, can't hear it.

Anders raises his eyebrows. "Will I now?" he asks, light and teasing.

Fenris turns away, all beautiful fury and tension.

Anders can't wait.

Hawke tells them they are done, thanks them for their help, and Anders is almost vibrating with anticipation as he calls his goodbyes to the others. Not long now before he has what he wants, and he is so ready.

Neither of them speaks as he follows Fenris to the clinic, the elf's footsteps quick and angry and nearly silent.

The moment the clinic door closes behind them, Fenris catches him by the front of his feathered coat and pulls him down, so close their faces almost touch. Fenris's breath is hot across his lips.

"Do not think I don't know what you are doing, mage," the elf snarls.

It doesn't matter if Fenris knows, because he always falls for it anyway, so Anders only grins at him.

Fenris growls, a low, rumbling animal noise Anders can feel in his chest.

"Bed," Fenris orders, "now."

Anders can barely contain his excitement as he hurries to obey.

Anders' cot is narrow and rickety, and it creaks ominously as Fenris shoves Anders into it, face down, and settles between his spread legs. Anders is still wearing all his clothes except for his coat and boots, and Fenris has only tossed away his gauntlets, so his fingers are bare as they work their way under Anders' hips and pull open the laces of his trousers. Anders struggles onto his hands and knees, and Fenris yanks the trousers, along with Anders' smalls, down to his thighs.

While the elf undoes the lacing of his own leggings, Anders reaches for a little jar of salve, kept near the bed just for this, and places it on the mattress within Fenris's reach. Neither of them speaks; there is no need for words anymore. They both know this dance. They have been through it so many times before.

From the corner of his eye, Anders can see Fenris picking up the jar from the bed. He holds his breath, and holds it, and holds it, the sound of Fenris spreading the salve on his fingers, on himself, the only thing he can hear over the rapid beating of his heart, and then the slicked fingers are pressing against him, into him. Anders exhales, and breathes in again.

Fenris doesn't waste time. The fingers go deep, give him a few harsh thrusts, spreading the slick of the salve around, and then retreat.

Anders is so ready for more, and Fenris doesn't make him wait.

The first merciless slide into him hurts in the best way possible. It's too rough and fast and big and exactly what Anders needs, and he shoves his hips back to take all of Fenris into his body. Fenris's hands grip Anders' waist and he snarls words Anders doesn't understand as he pulls out again.

Anders doesn't ask what the words mean. He could not, even if he wanted; the next relentless push of Fenris's hardness into his body has already rendered him speechless. Eager for more, he shuffles his knees wider on the thin bedding, tilts his hips back for a better angle. He's been thinking of this all day, and he will take all he can. Fenris is so good, so absolutely perfect inside him, and Anders is lucky to be able to have him like this.

He drops to his elbows, forehead pressed to the sheets, body moving along with Fenris's. The elf's thrusts are growing harder, and the grip of his hands will leave Anders with bruises. That has happened before, and Anders never heals those marks; they are a proof of his victory, a pleasant reminder of what he has had.

Sometimes he wishes Fenris would leave marks elsewhere, on his throat or the back of his neck, so he could parade them around, so that the elf would have to see them the next time they meet and _remember_. He doesn't want Fenris to forget that he can make this happen whenever he wants, that no matter how much Fenris may seem to be in control in bed, Anders has played him and brought him here.

The thought sends a pleasant shiver through him, and Anders reaches between his legs, wraps a hand around himself. He's so close that the light touch is almost too much already. One stroke, two, three, in time with Fenris's brutal thrusts, and he's coming, crying out, overwhelmed by the force of it, the pleasure so bright and clear he drowns in it, body clenching around Fenris as his hand keeps moving.

Fenris doesn't stop taking him even when Anders is done, and Anders lets go of himself and clutches at the sheets with both hands. The elf shoves deep into him until they are both shuddering, until it's too much, and Anders would murder Fenris if he stopped now. He can feel Fenris's forehead pressing to his back through his clothes, can hear him panting, and then the elf fills him with slick heat, growling more words that mean nothing to Anders but that sound angry and vaguely familiar.

They stay frozen like that for a while, bodies joined, breathing heavily, until finally, Fenris pulls out, and Anders winces a little. He stays where he is as Fenris gets up, staggering before he finds his balance.

This is the moment that is always a little awkward, when the pleasure is over and they have to return to normalcy. Anders feels as if he should say something, but he never does, and Fenris doesn't seem to expect it either, barely looks at Anders at all.

Slowly, Anders rolls onto his back as Fenris pulls his leggings up from his thighs and reaches for his gauntlets. A few strands of white hair stick to Fenris's forehead with sweat, a faint flush lingering on his cheeks, and for a foolish moment, Anders wants him to crawl back to the bed and stay.

Fenris does not stay. He yanks the hem of his tunic down to straighten it and turns to walk towards the door, but after a few steps, he stops. Anders watches him, unsure of what to expect. Fenris glances over his shoulder, and their eyes meet. Anders isn't sure what he sees on the elf's face, but it's unfamiliar. It makes him want to squirm.

He's almost relieved when Fenris breaks the gaze and strides across the clinic to the door without another look at his direction. That's normal; that's what he's used to.

When the door closes after the elf, Anders pulls the covers over himself, his body sated and relaxed and a little sticky. Before he falls asleep, he has just enough time to wonder what Fenris has been saying to him in Tevene.

Anders knows not to play his game too often. He gives Fenris a few weeks at least, so that he's calm enough. It always works better that way; he doesn't want to risk making the elf too angry, because then, he refuses to even look at Anders' direction, let alone touch him.

They're on their way home from the Wounded Coast with Hawke when Anders decides he isn't willing to wait any longer. He wants another brilliant night with Fenris, and nothing, no one, can stop him from having it, least of all Fenris himself.

So Anders teases and jokes and insults, and he can see the tension in Fenris growing, the elf's movements turning sharp, his words more clipped.

When Fenris snaps even at Hawke, Anders knows the victory is, yet again, his. It's almost too easy.

Fenris glances at his direction, and he smirks at the elf, as wide and annoying as he can. _I've got you now, and you know it_. Fenris glares back, narrow-eyed and dangerous, and Anders is giddy with the elf's undivided attention.

It's a half a day's walk back to Kirkwall, and Anders will enjoy watching Fenris fume every step of the way.

Anders can barely keep up his calm appearance as they finally reach Kirkwall, far too eager and ready. He's moments away from having Fenris all for himself, and considering how long the elf has been seething, it is going to be _good_.

Hawke bids them goodbye and heads towards the Hanged Man to meet Varric, Isabela waves a slender hand before walking away, and Anders and Fenris are alone.

"Follow me," Fenris says without even looking at Anders, and heads to Hightown.

Anders does. It's rare Fenris takes him to the mansion, but he doesn't protest; the elf's bed is much better for this sort of thing than his own narrow cot.

"Undress," Fenris orders.

Anders, standing next to Fenris's large bed, raises his eyebrows, a little surprised by the order, but begins to shed his clothing. Fenris keeps watching him, arms crossed over his chest, and there's something in the green eyes Anders hasn't seen before. It's sharp and calculating but something else too, something he has no name for.

It makes him nervous, twitchy, and it makes him want.

He piles his clothes on an empty chair, boots next to it on the floor, and Fenris says nothing, only looks at him, until Anders wants to cover his nakedness with his hands or turn away and hide.

The elf gestures towards the bed and Anders obeys, but when he's about to settle on his hands and knees, Fenris shakes his head.

"On your back."

That's not what Anders has been expecting, but he does as he's been told. Fenris gives him a look that's almost approving.

"Stay there," Fenris says and begins to undo the straps of his gauntlets.

The rest of the armour follows, then Fenris's tunic and leggings, and Anders can only stare, tantalised by the beauty of that smooth, lyrium-laced skin, bared all for him. He has never seen Fenris entirely naked like this, and the sight is more beautiful than he has expected. Fenris is a stunning creature, a work of art, and Anders is very lucky to be able to have the elf for himself when he wants. He doesn't know if Fenris gives himself to others the nights he doesn't share Anders' bed, but it's none of his business; Anders has him often enough, and that is all that matters.

Fenris places his clothes next to Anders', and walks to the bed. Anders can't drag his gaze away from the play of muscle under the elf's smooth skin. He wants to touch that, but when he reaches out, Fenris catches his wrist and pins his hand to the sheets. One knee braced on the edge of the mattress, the elf leans over him and meets his eyes.

"You play your games with me," Fenris says, "but this time, you _will_ learn something."

Anders raises a taunting eyebrow, but says nothing. Fenris lets go of his wrist and places a hand on his chest, lyrium-branded palm flat against his skin, not pinning him down but a clear sign to stay still, to pay attention.

"You will tell me to stop if I go too far. You will say _no_ if you cannot take what I give you. Is that clear?"

Anders almost laughs. "Do you honestly think you are in any way capable of reaching my limits?"

Fenris looks at him, and the intensity in green eyes is almost frightening.

"Yes," he says.

A pleasant shiver of anticipation runs through Anders' body.

"Do your worst, elf."

Fenris doesn't answer. They watch each other for a long while, and something almost like nervousness flickers alive in Anders' chest. He opens his mouth to say something, to dispel the tension growing inside him with a joke, but Fenris speaks first.

"I will kiss you now," the elf states.

Anders freezes, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest, and Fenris has to be able to feel it under his hand. The elf leans in, the movement so slow it is clear he's giving Anders time to push him away, to tell him to stop.

Anders does not, just presses his lips together and closes his eyes when he can feel Fenris's breath across his cheek.

Fenris kisses him.

It is unlike any kiss he has ever experienced. It's too slow and careful and terrifying, nothing more but Fenris's lips on his, warm and delicate. Anders keeps his eyes squeezed shut, stays as still as he can, fingers clutching at the sheets under him, and Fenris pulls back a fraction.

"Say _no_ ," Fenris whispers, low voice surprisingly soft. "Say _no_ , if you have to."

Anders says nothing. He barely dares to breathe as he lies there, eyes closed, and waits.

Fenris kisses him again. The second kiss is as light as the first one, undemanding and tender, and something inside Anders is unravelling. He's petrified, and he knows he should push Fenris away, but he can't make his arms move.

Another kiss follows, and a helpless noise escapes Anders' throat. The tip of Fenris's tongue touches his lips, and Anders' body reacts without a conscious thought: he opens his mouth, allows Fenris access.

It feels like surrender.

Even when Fenris's tongue slides into his mouth, the kiss stays easy and soothing, and Anders finds himself responding, kissing Fenris back. He pushes shaking hands into Fenris's hair, pulls the elf closer when he should be shoving him away. It's all wrong, too careful, too _much_ , and the sheer thought of letting Fenris stop is unbearable. He needs to be kissed, needs to breathe in Fenris's calm breaths—

He needs some semblance of normalcy, so he bites Fenris's lower lip, hard enough that it must hurt.

The elf refuses to be provoked, keeps his kisses gentle, and Anders hates him for it.

He does not bite Fenris again.

By the time Fenris finally pulls back, Anders is gasping for breath. Something is wrong with the world around him—or perhaps something is wrong with him. He's shaking, and when Fenris cups his cheek with a calloused hand, he leans into it and keeps his eyes closed. The touch grounding. It's the lifeline he needs, the only thing keeping him from shattering into a million tiny, sharp pieces.

Fenris leaves more kisses down his neck, over his collarbones and on his chest, and Anders tries to collect himself. Each touch of Fenris's lips is like a brand, burning even after the elf's lips leave his skin. He almost expects to find visible marks left behind by Fenris's mouth, more permanent than the now-faded bruises Fenris's fingers have painted on his hips.

He barely notices as Fenris picks up a bottle of oil, because the elf's lips are still on him, one kiss after another, punctuated by the occasional touch of a tongue or the faintest trace of teeth.

When Fenris lifts his head, Anders wants to beg his mouth back. He needs to feel it now, always, on his skin or on his lips, but he has run out of words. Fenris's hand pets his side, the touch firm and calming, and then the elf pulls the cork from the bottle, pours oil on his palm. He slicks his fingers before setting the bottle away, and reaches between Anders' legs. The wet fingertips touch him, circle his opening, and Anders stifles a gasp. He's not sure why such a light touch makes him feel far more vulnerable than being taken.

"Will you let me?" Fenris asks, eyes focused on Anders'.

He never asks, and Anders hates that he does it here, now.

"Yes," he manages to get out through gritted teeth.

Fenris's fingers push into him, too slow and easy. They reach in deep, curve inside him, and Anders bites his lip to stay quiet. He spreads his legs wider, thighs trembling, body clenching around the tender intrusion as the fingers keep moving.

It seems to last for a long while, those fingers filling him in a steady rhythm, twisting and curling and sending sparks of pleasure through him until he's making sharp, high-pitched noises, unable to stop. Fenris's mouth finds his again, and Anders parts his lips and tries to let the kiss be a distraction, but it's far too gentle for that. He moans into Fenris's mouth, and Fenris hums, and the fingers inside him rub against the right spot. He arches up in helpless pleasure, and Fenris kisses him once more before pulling back.

The fingers slip out of him, and Anders bites his lip to keep from begging. Fenris pets his hip before settling between his thighs, hands sliding down to grip his knees to guide his legs to wrap around Fenris's hips. The tip of the elf's hardness rests right on Anders' slick, open hole, and Anders can't breathe.

"May I?" Fenris asks.

He should not ask.

Anders nods and closes his eyes, and Fenris is merciful enough not to force him to say it. The elf presses a kiss on the tip of his nose, then another on his cheek, on the corner of his mouth, and finally fully on his lips. Anders opens his mouth, accepts the kiss and accepts Fenris's tongue.

Fenris's lips muffle the sound Anders makes when the elf sinks into him, painfully slow. Anders wants to grab Fenris's hips and force him to go faster, take him harder, make this hurt a little so everything can return to normal, but his hands refuse to move from where they are clutching at the sheets.

Every thrust after that is like the first, slow and easy and deep. Anders can't take it, he can't, it's too much and all wrong, and he knows he could end it all with a word.

All he does is gasp and moan and whine under Fenris, his legs locked around the elf.

"Open your eyes," Fenris tells him. "Look at me."

Anders doesn't want to do that, but the choice doesn't seem to be his. His eyes open without his permission, and he meets Fenris's green gaze, scared of what he'll see. Fenris's eyes are intense, focused on him and full of warmth, and no matter how much Anders wants to look away, he can't. He's trapped, all of him at Fenris's mercy.

Fenris cups his cheek and smiles down at him. "Good. That is good. Do you understand now?"

Anders swallows. Fenris keeps taking him, and the hand on his cheek is warm and careful, a thumb stroking over his skin. This is Fenris teaching him a lesson, and he is learning.

"Do you understand?" Fenris asks again.

"Fenris," Anders breathes, unable to say anything more, and Fenris leans down and kisses him, so tender and careful that he wants to scream.

He does not. He parts his lips and closes his eyes and lets Fenris have his mouth, kisses back, gives himself away. Fenris says something against his mouth, something Anders has heard before, but this time, it does not sound angry. It sounds like something Anders both wants and fears to hear. He has a vague idea of what it means, too, and he's glad Fenris is speaking Tevene and he does not have to _know_.

He wraps his arms around Fenris, and Fenris's thrusts are unrelenting but still gentle, still too much. Anders clings to him, helpless gasps and whimpers escaping his lips as Fenris fills him, again, again, again. He wants it harder, wants it to hurt so he does not have to feel so much, but Fenris doesn't change his rhythm. In retaliation, Anders digs his nails into Fenris's back, knows he is leaving bloody scratches, but Fenris keeps moving at the same pace inside him, the elf's hands caressing his skin. Anders can do nothing to change that; all he can do is to let it happen, accept it, allow Fenris to give him whatever the elf wants.

Fenris's hand wraps around him, and the next noise that escapes his parted lips is a helpless sob.

"Anders," Fenris says, hand moving on Anders as the elf keeps filling him. "Anders." Like a wow, like a prayer, like something precious he does not want to lose. "Anders."

And just like that, Anders is coming, and weeping, his seed spilling over his belly and Fenris's hand as tears stream down his cheeks. Fenris does not stop moving inside him, but he can barely feel it, lost in the near-painful pleasure and overwhelming emotion.

Only when Fenris finally stills, Anders realises it's over. He keeps crying, helpless to stop it. His breaths are coming in gasps as he sobs, and Fenris holds him close, kisses the tears away. He's shaken, shaking, adrift on a sea of emotion he can't understand, but Fenris is real and solid, pressed against him, and he never wants the elf to let go. Fenris is the only safety he has here, the only thing he can trust, and that cannot be right, not after the elf has broken him apart, but it is.

Calming down takes a long while, but eventually, the tears cease and the tightness of his throat eases. He feels brittle and unsteady still, afraid that if he moves, he will fall apart. Without Fenris's steady presence, he would.

"Sleep," Fenris whispers into his ear. "Just sleep, Anders. You will be fine."

Anders hides his face into Fenris's shoulder. _I'll never let you do this to me again_ , he thinks but does not say.

He clings to Fenris, and Fenris holds him and pets his hair with a soothing hand. It feels good and comforting and right, and slowly, Anders begins to feel a little steadier, a little more like himself.

Eventually, he falls asleep in Fenris's warm embrace, surrounded by the comforting scent of the elf's hair and skin.

Sunrise is already lightening the sky when Anders wakes up to find Fenris watching him across the pillow.

His first instinct is to run and hide, to get as far away from Fenris and the danger the elf poses, but he's warm and comfortable under the covers, his body heavy and relaxed, and the thought of leaving makes something in his chest clench. Fenris looks sleepy and strangely soft, blinking slowly at him, and Anders wants to stay.

They lie like that for a long while. Anders can still feel the echoes of Fenris's touch on his skin, can hear the way Fenris has said his name in his head. He remembers every moment with shocking clarity, as if the memories have been burnt into his mind.

_Do you understand now?_

He does understand, he thinks as he reaches out under the covers, finds Fenris's hand and laces their fingers together. It isn't the lesson he has imagined Fenris wanting to teach him. It's something bigger, something new and terrifying, something he is not ready for.

Fenris smiles at him, slow and warm, and his heart flutters.

It's something he wants.

Anders dares to offer no promises, not even to himself, but maybe, just maybe, he will let Fenris do this to him again after all.

If he will, he's almost certain he doesn't have to play games anymore.


End file.
